


Equal

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Other, Vignette, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 05:23:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3237872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s nothing like the sweet caress of gold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Equal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mozzarella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozzarella/gifts).



> A/N: Drabble for Mozzarella’s “The golden statue remains intact and Smaug falls in love” request on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=24632437#t24632437).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Long after the dwarves have scampered away like so many mice, their legacy remains: finally something worthy of a _dragon._

The statue stands, tall and _magnificent_ , at the end of the long hall, where the natural light can hit it through the cracks and broken angles. It’s in the shape of a dwarf, yes, even has that strange fur and their pitiful attempt at armour, but Smaug can see the beauty beyond the shallow shape. Beneath that manipulated form lies a being of _pure gold_ , wondrous and grand, just like Smaug himself. 

It’s been a long time since Smaug’s found any treasure of his size. Anything dug up from the earth still this intact. It’s been melted down and shaped, yes, and if Smaug steps back and muses on it too long, it even looks like one of those infernal Durins—it doesn’t matter which—but at its core, it’s mineral. The most delectable, beautiful, raw mineral: a celebration of the only things of value in this too-infested world. 

Smaug likes to stare at it. There’s little better to do, some days, when he isn’t quite ready for another nap—not with those fools camping on his doorstep. He used to spend days on end sorting through his treasure, flicking it about into sizeable piles with his long tail, or scooping it up to watch it cascade through his talons like a sieve. But none of it was anywhere near this splendor, and it draws Smaug as a beacon in the dark, casting tiny, teasing shimmers all throughout his home. 

Even when he means to leave, he doesn’t—he should be in the chamber the dwarves first filtered into, ready to swallow them in flame the moment they dare. But instead he finds himself creeping closer, one colossal paw at a time, to the masterpiece that is his new companion. 

When he wraps his tail around it, it’s only gentle; he’s careful with his spikes not to scratch the shining surface. His head ghosts slowly over it, peering at every little nook and cranny, the texture all smooth but the shape varying and offering different delightful views. When he lifts one claw to press against it, his touch is all admiration, and he strokes it softly, lovingly, the lust mounting in his belly. 

He nuzzles the side of his face against it, nostrils inhaling the deep, heady sent of _treasure_. He’s waited all his long, long life for this: something befitting not his hoard but himself. This is all he wanted. Swiftly, he slithers along it, body winding around all the subtle curves, his bejeweled underside pressing against it and his tail looping in circles about the base. His wings unfold, blowing any brave remnants of dust aside, and they encase the statue from all sides, protective and boundless. 

It’s cold in his arms. _Good_. He presses his own heat into it as he rubs slowly, luxuriously, grinding his great body against the precious surface. Compared to the distorted chunks of metal lying everywhere else, the statue is tantalizingly soft, so very easy to fall into. He ruts into it over and over with all his flushed desire, his muzzle nestled against the head and his tongue, every once in a while, flicking out to taste its decadence. The pleasure of it all clouds Smaug’s eternal mind, fills him completely, and for a few magical moments, Smaug is a _part_ of the statue, molded protectively around it like a second, brilliant skin, and they become _one_ : the most beautiful art this world has ever housed. 

Only when Smaug’s spent himself on love does he withdraw, slinking back with a few affectionate licks and strokes and general worship. He curls around it on the ground instead, deciding, perhaps, that he’ll rest here, with his greatest treasure of all. He will guard it to his last, value it more than any other creature could, and through their joining, he will be complete, glorious and whole. 

Smaug is there until the challengers storm through again, daring to reach for his love.


End file.
